There are bad days.../In Stitches

Gunner continued to lay down as much cover as he could for Conner before his gun went dry. He finally decided to pull back, supporting himself with a bit of wood he found lying on the dirty ground, and made his way to a safer position. At some point, he saw Omar come tumbling from above and onto some crates. He looked up and saw the top of Connor's head before it disappeared back behind the balcony.

At that point Gunner decided to cut his losses and made his way through the secret door to the camera room. And from there out of the warehouse. A trail of blood followed him all the way to his car. He tossed the bit of wood and groaned as he got in. He didn't bother tending to his leg. At that point he was just focused on getting out as fast as he possibly could. He fumbled for his keys and placed them in the ignition.

His hands were shaking, his vision already was blurring. He cursed as his hand slipped when he tried turning the key. Blood was pooling in the car seat and smeared on everything he touched. Gunner leaned over to the glove box and took out a baggy of cocaine hidden beneath some old pamphlets. He tore it open and stuck his nose inside.

Suddenly things came into sharp focus, and the pain in his leg dulled somewhat. Hopefully it would be enough. He reached for the key again and started the car.

(Anyone can feel free to stop Gunner from driving away if they want. Otherwise I'm just gonna have him head on back to Ira's for some TLC)

---

On the drive back to the storage outlet, Ira looked over to Eliza and smirked. "You did good today, Ms. Abrams. I like the go-getter attitude."

"Thanks," Eliza smiled. "I have to say, seeing how you work it's... well it's unorthodox."

"Being 'Mr. Stitch' isn't the same as being a doctor." Ira said. Eliza detected a faint hint of sadness in his tone.

Eliza chuckled.

"What?"

Eliza shook her head. "Nothing. It's just... 'Mr. Stitch' it sounds like the name of a Batman villain."

"Wasn't my choice," Ira chuffed. "The first guy I ever patched up was this two-bit punk named Moose. He came to me with a bullet stuck in his ass from a failed robbery. I patched him up, and he gave me the nickname. It kinda spread through word of mouth. 'Gotta a problem that needs fixin'? See Mr. Stitch, he'll fix you up, no questions asked.'" Ira said in a mocking, thuggish tone.

"And that's how you got your start as a criminal doctor?"

"Pretty much, yeah," Ira nodded. "Most of the time people came to me with gunshot wounds, stabbings, anything that would get reported to the police that the patients didn't really want being reported. Soon it became lucrative enough that I could start ordering proper tools instead of using improvised stuff. Then the MacCauleys got wind of me. Patched up one of their boys and apparently they liked the cut of my jib. They set me up with the surgery I have now. Send me drugs and whatever else I may need to fix their men. And deliver babies on occasion..."